Things I Learned This Week
Missionary Marriages and Continental Confusion
Sometimes the most random shit teaches you the most about life. This week's education came courtesy of Spanish class drama, geographical mind-fucks, and the unsettling realization that even people who claim to have God on speed dial are just as messy as the rest of us.
The Continental Divide (Literally)
First up: apparently, half the world believes there are only six continents. Not seven. Six.
I discovered this when one of my Spanish teachers (I have three) mentioned it casually, like it was common knowledge instead of information that would cause me to question my entire public school education in New Jersey. Turns out, depending on where you learned geography, North and South America are either two separate continents or one big-ass landmass called "America."
Same goes for Europe and Asia. Some places teach them as "Eurasia" instead of separate continents. Because apparently, the number of continents depends on which cultural lens you're using to slice up the planet. Who knew?
This is the kind of revelation that makes you realize how much of what you consider "universal truth" is actually just "the way Americans decided to organize information." It's unsettling in the best possible way, similar to finding out your childhood was built on a series of arbitrary decisions made by people who probably didn't know any better than you do. The longer my genealogy research continues, the more I believe the latter point in the comparison.
The Voice That Haunts Me
My Spanish teacher from Oaxaca has this voice that's been driving me crazy for weeks. Not because it's annoying—it's actually perfect for language learning, clear and patient and warm. But something about it feels familiar in a way that's making me fucking neurotic.
I spend half our audio-only classes trying to figure out who he reminds me of instead of conjugating verbs. It's like having a word on the tip of your tongue for three straight weeks. Some actor? A radio DJ from my youth? An old friend's brother? The voice is so familiar it's become a puzzle I can't solve, which is probably the most middle-aged problem I've ever had. (I can say this decisively because my middle-aged years are ending. Gulp.)
But here's the thing: his voice makes me want to learn Spanish. There's something about the way he explains grammar that makes me actually give a shit about the subjunctive mood. Maybe that's the mark of a good teacher: making you care about stuff you thought you'd never care about, even when you're too distracted trying to solve the mystery of why their voice feels like home.
The Missionary Position (In Spanish Class)
Get your head outta the gutter!
The real entertainment this week came from my classmates—a husband and wife missionary couple from a far-off land with a completely different alphabet and grammar structure. Let me set the scene: he's the pastor, she's the devoted wife, and they're learning Spanish together to spread the word in Latin America. Sounds sweet, right?
Wrong. Never mind that this country has already been forced from Indigenous spirituality to Catholicism. My beef here isn’t about that.
Dude is a straight-up cheater. Not in the adultery sense – I wouldn’t know – but on the homework front. He copies everyone's answers with the shameless dedication of a freshman who forgot about the test until five minutes before class. Meanwhile, his wife is actually trying to learn, struggling through pronunciation with the determination of someone who genuinely wants to communicate with people.
The dynamic was screwed from day one. He'd dominate every conversation, interrupt her answers, correct her pronunciation (incorrectly), and generally treat her like she was there to make him look good instead of learn alongside him. Classic control-freak behavior wrapped in the wholesome package of "[insert religion] marriage."
The Separation
Our teacher finally had enough. Bless his mysterious, familiar voice! He separated them into different discussion groups, citing "better learning opportunities" with the diplomatic skill of someone who's dealt with this shit before.
The change was immediate and beautiful. Without her husband's constant interference, the wife started participating more, asking questions, making natural mistakes without apologizing profusely. She's still hard to understand, but she's trying in a way that feels genuine instead of performative.
Meanwhile, the pastor is floundering without someone to copy from and dominate. Turns out, when you spend all your time controlling someone else's learning experience, you don't actually learn anything yourself. Who could have predicted that?
The Hypocrisy Is the Point
What gets me about this whole situation is how perfectly it illustrates the gap between proclaimed values and actual behavior. Here's a guy who's supposedly dedicated his life to serving God and helping others, and he can't even let his wife answer a Spanish question without butting in.
It's not that I'm shocked by religious hypocrisy. I've been around long enough to know that claiming moral authority doesn't make you moral. (Myself included.) But watching it play out in real-time, in something as mundane as Spanish class, is weirdly fascinating. The small-scale power dynamics that reveal everything about someone's character.
I like to think that the wife is learning more than Spanish in that class. She's learning what it feels like to have space to think, to make mistakes, to be heard without being corrected or managed. Good for her.
The Unexpected Lessons
This week reminded me that the most interesting education sometimes happens in the margins of what you're supposed to be learning. I signed up for Spanish class to improve my conjugation skills… ok, ok, and to fulfill my dream of actually communicating with my boyfriend’s family (let’s not harp on that). Instead, I'm getting a masterclass in cultural assumptions, relationship dynamics, and the weird ways people reveal themselves when they think nobody's paying attention.
I'm also learning that sometimes the best thing a teacher can do is recognize when students need to be separated. Separated not just physically, but from the patterns that are holding them back. Our teacher saw what was happening and intervened with the kind of quiet authority that actually helps people instead of just maintaining order.
The Soundtrack to Learning
Oh, and I discovered a new song this week that's been on repeat—though I'm not telling you what it is because half the joy of finding new music is the private relationship you develop with it before the world gets involved. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: music is my love language. So allow me to revel in the intimacy for the moment. Please and thank you.
Music hits differently when you're learning a new language. Something about having your brain stretched in unfamiliar directions makes you more open to sounds you might have dismissed before. Or maybe I'm just getting old and sentimental about everything, including the mysterious voice of my Spanish teacher and the small dramas of middle-aged missionaries.
Either way, it's been a week of unexpected education. Geography that challenges your assumptions, relationship dynamics that reveal character, and the ongoing mystery of why some voices feel like home before you've even figured out whose they are.
Here's to learning shit you didn't know you needed to know, and to teachers who understand that sometimes the most important lesson is knowing when to separate the students who are holding each other back. 🇲🇽
